


Miles To Go Before I Sleep

by Grundy



Series: First Age [25]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amon Ereb, Doom of the Noldor, Gen, Oath of Fëanor, Third Kinslaying aftermath, it seemed like a good idea at the time, raising peredhil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy





	Miles To Go Before I Sleep

The words of the Doom echoed again in Maedhros’ head as his younger brother stormed out, a distraught Elrond in his arms.

_To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well…_

He didn’t see what else he could have done, though – the children had asked, and he couldn’t _lie_ to them.

“ _The Everlasting Darkness!”_ Elros repeated, a note of hysteria in his voice.

Sweet Nienna, Makalaurë had been right. The child was already well on his way to being unable to calm down, even without his brother at his side.

“Shh,” Maedhros crooned, pulling the frantic boy onto his lap.

He knew not what else to say. He couldn’t very well say ‘it is all right’ when he knew Elros was perfectly aware that it was _not_ all right and never would be.

“How could you? How could you be so _stupid_?” Elros demanded angrily. “You are always telling us to be careful, to say nothing we don’t mean! And you said _that!”_

The child refused to be comforted, flailing at Maedhros with his fists.

Maedhros tried not to either laugh or cry at the thought that both Tyelko and Turvo had been prone to the same thing when pushed beyond their limits.

“We tell you to say nothing you do not mean because we hope you will avoid our worst mistakes, not repeat them,” Maedhros replied, letting the little fists beat at his chest, secure in the knowledge they could do no damage worse than he has already experienced. “If you think I do not feel the full force of my own foolishness, you are quite mistaken.”

That did make Elros stop.

The little one’s eyes were full of furious tears, but his trembling lip was not angry, it was scared.

Maedhros felt his heart break at the idea that he would be just one more in a long line of kin who have let this little one down.

Elwing’s sons were at only seven years old far too accustomed to the notion that there were few adult kin they could rely on. Their father is little more than a hazy memory to either boy, and Maedhros has already had to remind Elros more than once that he is Eärendilion, not Nelyafinwion. He suspected if Makalaurë hasn’t had at least one similar conversation with Elrond, it’s only because the younger twin already grasped more of strategy than his impetuous older brother did.

Even Galadriel, who stood out in the boys’ experience as an elder kinswoman Not To Be Crossed, was not an absolute to them, but someone who came and went, for they were too young to grasp the full scope of her obligations to both the Sindar and the Noldor. Lalwen they knew had died fighting for them, but that did not make her any less gone. As for their mother, Elwing had made certain they were safe, but what was that to children who wanted her there with them, Silmaril and Oath be damned?

He has tried to prepare them. Makalaurë has had words with him more than once about his habit of pointing out to both children that he will not always be there, that they must learn to think and do for themselves. He has tried not let the boys believe that he is a permanent fixture in their world, nor has he hidden the fact that the elves of Amon Ereb know a good deal about death and loss.

He had no illusions about himself. He did not doubt that he would sooner or later die fighting Morgoth, trying despite the Doom to regain that he was sworn to pursue. He only hoped he might actually manage to inflict some damage on the dread Vala that would begin to compensate for all that creature has done to the Noldor.

It had not been any particular loss to Morgoth, his escape. Finno would have done far better had he killed him when asked. There might have been two less Kinslayings, and a real alliance between Doriath and Mithrim might have been possible with a High King who had killed a Kinslayer rather than rescued him.

None of that is anything he can say to an innocent child, though. Especially not one who is already frightened and crying.

“I don’t want you to go into the Darkness,” Elros said piteously. “Can’t you just say you’re sorry? You _are_ , aren’t you?”

“Of course I am sorry!” Maedhros exclaimed. “Do you think I could be happy at all the terrible things I have done for that Oath? I would unswear it in a moment if I could.”

“Then why don’t you?” Elros sniffled. “You said it is never too late to say sorry and make right. So say you are sorry. And make right!”

“I can say sorry until the end of the world, little one, but it will not matter in the least if the Valar refuse to hear me,” Maedhros said softly. “And I am not the only one who made a promise. Mandos never lies. He cannot. It is not in his nature.”

Elros stared at him with a terrified, cornered look in his eyes that wrung Maedhros’ heart.

“What did _they_ promise?” he whispered.

“ _Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be forever_ ,” Maedhros recited.

He knew the words of the Doom as well as he knew the words of the Oath.

“The only _ever_ I heard in there is after ‘Dispossessed’,” Elros said stubbornly, his little lip jutting out resolutely. “So they can say sorry and make right, too.”

Maedhros nearly choked at that piece of arrogance.

“It is not for us to tell the Valar what to do, Elros,” he said sternly.

“I am not telling them to do anything. I am stating a truth to my kin,” the boy replied mulishly. “Everyone makes mistakes – and it is not just you who tells us that. Auntie Lal said so, and Nana, and even Thranduil. So it must be true. And the Valar are _not_ the One. That means the Valar can make mistakes the same as you and me.”

“We may think they make mistakes, young one, but that does not mean it is so,” Maedhros cautioned.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Elros repeated firmly, but the fight was going out of him.

He suddenly looked very young, even less than his seven years, and very tired.

Maedhros gathered him into his arms.

“I am truly sorry, little one. I will do my best to make no more mistakes, but that is all I can promise you. I have learned the hard way not to say words I do not know I can keep.”

“You can still say sorry and make right,” he said brokenly. “Even if they won’t.”

“I am sorry. I am sorry for the Oath, and for every elf I have killed, and everyone I have hurt,” Maedhros told him solemnly. “But I fear there is no way for me to make right. I cannot bring the dead back to life or undo their hurts. I cannot unburn the ships, or take back my words. Your mother is still gone, and your grandparents and uncles are still dead.”

“But you didn’t kill them,” Elros said, his voice uncertain.

Maedhros could see the boy _wanted_ that to be true.

“Not with my own hand, no, but they were killed as part of expeditions I led, by elves under my command, which means their deaths are still on my account,” Maedhros said quietly. “That is what it means to be a leader. You take responsibility not only for the things that go right, but also for the things that go wrong.”

“How did it happen?” Elros asked forlornly. “I don’t understand how you can kill elves and say it went wrong.”

“When you are arguing with people who have weapons in their hands, things can go wrong quite easily and quite badly,” Maedhros replied. “That is how the Kinslaying at Alqualondë happened. No one gave any order to kill or even to attack. It went from angry words to pushing and shoving to fists to boat hooks and harpoons against swords.”

He forebore to mention the horror that was how close they had come to literal kinslaying, when Galadriel had taken up arms against them in defense of her mother’s people. The child was horrified enough by what he already knew for that to wait until he was older. He had no doubt that Galadriel herself would tell them the full story of Alqualondë at some point.

“By the time any order could be restored, there were dead on both sides. More Teleri than Noldor, for they had not looked for trouble to come to them, where we had intended to take what was theirs whether they would or no and come prepared accordingly.”

“What about Doriath?” Elros asked nervously.

“There we marched in good order, and had warned in advance that we intended to regain the Silmaril. If Dior had surrendered it, or even given us some reason he would not that we might have used to open negotiations, I could have restrained my brothers, no matter how desperate the Oath made them. But we were met with arrows and knives, and I was unable to resist the Oath.”

“You make it sound like an enemy,” Elros said fretfully.

“It is,” Maedhros replied frankly. “Why do you think we are so insistent that you swear no oaths? Repeat the words in your mind, and tell me what part of ‘death’ or ‘woe’ you think I would happily deal to other elves.”

Elros was silent for several moments.

“Who killed my grandfather?” he asked suddenly. “And my grandmother? Nana never said.”

“I am not sure that your mother would have known,” Maedhros replied. “She was carried safely away by your Uncle Celeborn, though we did not learn that until later. He most likely saved her life. My brother Curufinwë tried to get to the nursery, hoping to capture her and your uncles, and force your grandfather to give up the Silmaril in exchange for their return.”

“Is that what happened to Nana’s brothers?” Elros asked, his eyes wide. “Curufinwë killed them?”

Maedhros almost laughed.

“No, Curufinwë died outside the nursery, killed by its defenders, and our brother Carnistir as well. I do not know who found your uncles, but it would have been better for them if it had been Curufinwë. My little brother was very fond of children.”

“I thought all elves liked children,” Elros whispered.

“Even among elves, there are some more careful of children than others,” Maedhros replied. “My brother’s mother-name was Atarinkë, because my mother knew even when he was still young that being a father would be his greatest delight.”

“I am sorry he died,” Elros offered. “And Carnistir.”

“That is kind of you, Elros,” Maedhros sighed. “But to answer your question, it was my brother Tyelkormo who killed your grandparents. He fought them in the throne room of Menegroth, and killed them both. I believe your people say it was Dior who killed him, but the truth is that it was your grandmother Nimloth who hit him with a knife thrown with the last of her strength as she lay dying. She hoped she would save Dior, but it was already too late.”

Elros looked very solemn.

“She still had hope,” he pointed out. “Though all seemed lost.”

“She did,” Maedhros agreed, and forbore to point out that her hope had failed her.

“And what of my uncles?” Elros asked, determined to have the full confession.

“Followers of Tyelkormo angry and grieving at the death of their prince took them from our camp, and abandoned them in the woods,” Maedhros said, trying to keep remembered fury out of his voice. “We searched for them, but never found them.”

Elros did not ask what happened to the elves that had abandoned them. Perhaps he did not want to know.

“And Sirion?” he said softly. “I know you are unhappy Aunt Lalwen died. You did not mean to kill her. What about Nana?”

“Your naneth was very brave, and a good queen,” Maedhros replied. “She sent as many of her people as she could to safety. She hid you and your brother in a safe place few knew about, with trustworthy people to guard you. And then she stood her ground, knowing we would chase the Silmaril, nothing else, and what the words of our Oath were. She expected us to kill her.”

“But you didn’t,” Elros said. “You never lie to us, and you said she leapt into the sea.”

“She did,” Maedhros said quietly. “She thought we would kill her and take the Silmaril. And she decided that if she had to die, she would die at her own hand and deprive us of the jewel, for she knew we would not have been able to bring it up from the water where she jumped. I believe Ulmo saving her was as great a surprise to her as it was to us.”

“He didn’t let her come back, though,” Elros muttered resentfully.

“If he had let he come back, Elros, we still would have pursued her for the Silmaril,” Maedhros said gently. “She might have been killed. Or you might have been hurt. Perhaps someday she will be allowed to return without the jewel.”

“No, she won’t,” Elros said sadly, sounding all too certain. “We won’t see her again on this side of the Sea.”

Maedhros wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“I wonder if Ulmo has thought to tell her that we are ok, and Glinwen too,” Elros mused. “She must worry. We thought you were monsters before we met you, you know. Nana probably did too.”

_She would have been perfectly right to think so_ , Maedhros thought.

Elros slumped back against him, boneless after such an emotional storm.

“I’m going to find a way to save you,” he mumbled. “No Everlasting Darkness. If Grandmother Luthien can make Mandos change his mind, I can too.”

Maedhros nearly choked at that idea.

“I hope you do not intend to go running straight to Mandos about this,” he chided. “I would miss you terribly. And so would your brother.”

“I’d come back,” Elros murmured reassuringly. “Just like Grandmother Luthien.”

“She only came back for a short while,” Maedhros said, running his hand through the boy’s hair. “And when she did, it was as though she burned too brightly for this world. She left again, this time for good, before your grandfather was of age.”

Elros sighed.

“She might come back again,” he said hopefully. “Everyone else will.”

“The elves will,” Maedhros corrected. “The fëar of our dead go the the Halls, and emerge again when they are ready to return to life. But that is not how death works for mortals. They go beyond the circles of the world, and they do not return.”

“Maybe they will return, someday,” Elros said, almost dreamily. “They just haven’t done it yet. Everyone will be so surprised when it happens.”

“It is nice to think so,” Maedhros admitted.

“Maedhros?” Elros said after a pause long enough that his older cousin thought he might be falling asleep.

“Hm?”

“What happens if Míriel changes her mind about not returning to life? Can Finwë be married to both her and Indis at the same time?”

 “I don’t think it works like that, Elros,” Maedhros said carefully.

“Why couldn’t it, though?” Elros persisted. “Then everyone could be happy. Even Uncle Fëanaro.”

Maedhros found himself fervently wishing Curvo were still with them to deal with such far-fetched hypotheticals.  As it was…

“I think you need a nap, young one,” he said firmly, standing up. “Come, let us go find your brother and mine.”

There was no answer from the sleeping boy in his arms.


End file.
